


Guardian of the Eastern Gate

by Kelly_the_Ferret



Series: Leviathan Depths [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Such a Troll, Fluff and Humor, Genderbending, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Multi, Plot, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelly_the_Ferret/pseuds/Kelly_the_Ferret
Summary: Our Ineffable Pair try their very best to figure out what could be causing the aggressive outbursts in Gabriel's report. They wander so far out into Left Field that they arrive at the Eastern Gate.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Leviathan Depths [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538272
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Guardian of the Eastern Gate

**Author's Note:**

> Slow day at work! I'm proud and excited to post another Plot chapter!

Two days later, Aziraphale was cheerfully ticking items off of his packing list. He did so enjoy the winter air when it arrived each year, but he was always more than ready to embrace the sun when it returned. One could lose oneself in hot cocoa and good books during foul weather, but spring air lifted his spirits. Besides, he mused, his snake would fare much better on a trip to a warmer climate.

He observed that his demon was still mixing and matching black leather clothing on the bed. He tutted, and asked "Love, you do realize we will be in arid conditions, don't you?"

"I know," Crowley mused, leaning back with crossed arms as though he were touring an art museum. "And you know I never minded the heat." He shifted his attention when his phone buzzed in his pocket, delivering a text message from Anathema which read "Did you see G again?" He ignored the message.

After their evening with Newt and Anathema, the pair had attempted to begin strategizing during their hopelessly unsteady walk home. 

"Start at the source," they had both repeated again and again until the phrase held little meaning.

"The source?"

"The source!"

"The source of what?"

"Of everything!"

Their chatter had chaotically bounced through the dark streets, sound amplified by the puddles of melting snow.

And so, they arrived at a plan to go back to the Garden. Even though they could easily have been there and back within a blink of an eye, they both agreed that a leisurely journey by land in the Bentley would make a lovely celebration of their trek through the ages in the opposite direction. Then a news report popped on the telly about a Madrid housewife who spent a weekend barricaded in her bathroom while her husband shredded the living room drapes with his teeth. The pair agreed that time was of the essence, and they booked a flight to Baghdad.

Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell had obligingly agreed to drop by to water the plants while the shop was closed. He had proven more than willing to uphold Crowley's rigorous standard of verbal abuse, although the Sergeant may have been left under the impression that the plants were withholding information about a coven.

Once the plane had taken off, Aziraphale seemed to exude bliss. Being among the clouds without having to tire out his wings was his idea of perfection, and the plane offered the further benefit of snacks. 

Meanwhile, Crowley's crimson lipstick clashed with her complexion as it turned from grey to green. She had started drinking in the terminal to curb her anxiety over being so high above the earth for the first time since her fall. Demons were not meant to soar among the heavens, and this one had just been pushed to her limit. 

The lead stewardess shook her head pityingly at the tall, angular, middle-aged woman who was walking shakily towards the bathroom. Poor dear, air sickness when it looked like she was in mourning. And with those glasses, she must also have a migraine! From over the tops of the seats, she saw the bathroom door close. But when it reopened, no one emerged. 

The airline veteran rushed to the loo as quickly as she could without raising a panic, but found no one, collapsed or otherwise. She scanned the crowd and did not see the ailing widow anywhere. She had just decided to submit for psychiatric screening as the plane was landing when she finally located the missing passenger in her assigned seat. 

"Was my waistcoat comfortable for you dear?" the angel asked his demon.

"Ssssssssssscrew air travel," she mumbled, bracing her forehead against her palm.

Once disembarked, the pair collected their bags and stepped out into an unfamiliar street. "Think we've been away too long, angel?"

"The Garden's location is unforgettable to me. The world can change, but that place has always been as a beacon to me," Aziraphale answered proudly. He could not see the demon just behind his shoulder roll her eyes and mock his enthusiasm.

The peculiar couple were soon leaving the city in a rented jeep, which vanished in what looked like large heat ripples in the glaring sun. Aziraphale held his bush hat in place as the jeep bounced off the road and into the desert. The angel was wearing a pastel blue Hawaiian shirt paired with khaki cargo shorts, whose pockets were stuffed full of gear. 

"Wouldn't it be easier to just wear a tinfoil suit, angel?" Crowley growled as she leaned forward and squinted through the windshield.

"I am *not* a jacket potato!" The angel pointedly answered around vehicle's jolts and bumps.

"No, jacket spuds don't stink of sun cream!" the demon shot back, urging the jeep up a dune which threatened to roll them over sideways.

The sun was setting dramatically when they spotted the Garden's walls along the southern horizon. A green-ish glow could be seen out in front of the Eastern Gate, about 500 meters from the Garden. 

"Well, what in blazes -!" Aziraphale cried as the glow seemed to pulse with green flames.

Crowley eased the jeep to a stop at what she felt was a safe distance from the anomaly. She placed a black Doc Marten boot out onto the sand and climbed out of the jeep wearing a billowing shirtdress and an oversized sunhat, both jet black. She stood frowning as she studied the shifting patch of green through her favorite sunglasses.

Directly opposite the Garden's Eastern Gate was what appeared to be a flaming, malfunctioning hole in the surface of another wall. Except that there was no wall opposite. Green sparks shot from a point at the top left of the unnerving maw. 

"Right," Aziraphale said resolutely. He marched toward the enigma, quickly gathering a layer of sand between his sandals and his socks.

"Aziraphale!" the demon cried, "Angel! Don't go near it!" She hustled after, kicking up a dust cloud, but she was unable to dissuade the determined angel.

"Whatever it is, it is *my* responsibility. I am the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and this falls before my jurisdiction," the angel announced as he continued to trudge towards the disruption, whose scale was becoming more daunting as the pair drew nearer.

Crowley felt no heat from the green flames that formed the edges of the break in reality. She wondered if she could see something through the swirling membrane, which cast no shadow on the sand. "It's as if something the size of Westminster Abbey bashed through a barrier between this world and another," she observed.

Aziraphale pulled a pair of peculiar spectacles with multiple lenses out of one pocket and a notepad out of another, and he began to study the anomaly. He leaned around to the back of the mass and found that it vanished when viewed from behind. He reached out to touch the ethereal tear.

"No! Don't you bloody dare!" Crowley growled as she charged at the angel. She collided with the shocked investigator, knocking him to the ground.

"What the Devil are you - Crowley! Stop it this instant!" the angel indignantly spouted. He shook the sand from his floppy hat and added "You are directly interfering with my duties!"

"I didn't come here to see you get zapped, or - or burnt up, or sucked into an alternate existence!" The demon sighed. "Let me test it."

Aziraphale's eyes blazed as he straightened himself up. "Demon of the Pit, I do not need you to extend me your protection!" he exclaimed. He calmly took his would-be rescuer by the hand and led her to the edge of the green. "Shall we together, then?" 

"On the count of three."

"3"

"2"

"1totheworl-"


End file.
